


Blue Alert

by kmo



Category: Where on Earth is Carmen Sandiego?
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, F/F, Femslash, New Year's Resolutions 2012, Songfic, shameless Oscar Wilde references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-10
Updated: 2012-07-10
Packaged: 2017-11-09 13:14:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmo/pseuds/kmo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orange alerts warned of VILE henchmen. Red was for Carmen herself. Ivy sighed. There was no color for developing an insane passion for your adversary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Alert

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CheshirePrime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshirePrime/gifts).



> CheshirePrime- I enjoyed your Ivy/Carmen fic "Time Out" so much last Yuletide, I wanted to write one for you in return as a gift this year. I'm sorry it took so long for me to finish it. I hope you enjoy reading it, because I had a lot of fun writing it!
> 
> The title and fic are inspired by the song "Blue Alert"- I prefer the sultry Madeleine Peyroux version.
> 
> Update: My amazing friend Mirei has made six panels of manga depicting Blue Alert's opening scene. Check it out on her [Deviant Art page](http://erica888.deviantart.com/gallery/)!

 

_She breaks a rule so you can see_

_She is wilder than you’ll ever be…_

 

Ivy clung to the steel support beams and felt the cold wind whip across her face. She ignored her brother’s protests, the honks and horns of taxi-cabs the size of matchbox cars eighty-odd stories below her, and instead focused on the scarlet-clad woman hovering precariously above her. Carmen Sandiego was perched on the radio antenna atop the highest floor of the tallest building in New York City. Without even needing to look, Ivy knew her adversary’s ruby lips were curled into a mischievous smirk, knew that the thief’s stillness was a complete illusion- any minute now she would signal for a helicopter or pull out a jetpack and disappear, as she had done a thousand times before. Which made Ivy’s efforts meaningless. But even though the situation was routine, the detective had to try, had to keep going. She wouldn’t know who she was anymore if she didn’t.

Just as Ivy came within lunging distance of Carmen’s scarlet heel, something happened which had never happened before. Ivy lost her footing on the icy railing, felt the ladder slip away from her. And then she was falling, falling, falling through the night air…

This was how it ended. It would all be over soon, before she even had time to scream.

Suddenly, a powerful red blur collided with her in mid-air with the force of an All-American defensive tackle. Ivy reflexively clung to her rescuer for what felt like hours, but was really more like seconds. Her heart pounded and tears leaked from her closed eyes. She knew they had landed, but couldn’t quite believe in the reality of the ground under her feet. Were it not for the strong arms wrapped around her, she probably would have lost the ability to stand altogether.

A hand rubbed soothing circles on her back. And a familiar voice murmured comforting words in her ear; “It’s all right, Ivy. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Ivy opened her eyes. Carmen had rescued her. Carmen, of all people. “Thank you,” she muttered weakly, too shocked to say any more.

“I think you can let go of me now, Ivy,” the thief chided. Ivy blushed and relinquished her grasp, but couldn’t quite pull away. “We’ve come a long way from Bavaria, haven’t we?” Carmen said, referring to an incident, years ago, where Carmen had tried to save her life, but she had stubbornly refused, been willing to die rather than accept her help, her touch. It was a memory that filled Ivy with shame.

The keening whine of police sirens brought an end to their quiet moment together. “That would be my cue,” the woman in red acknowledged, the barest touch of disappointment in her voice. Carmen’s normally inscrutable expression changed into a softer one than Ivy had ever seen. “Take care of yourself, _querida_ ,” she whispered. One gloved hand tipped her hat in farewell, while the other threw a smoke grenade. And then she simply vanished into thin air, like the rabbit in a magician’s trick.

***

Ivy’s near-death encounter had left her disconcerted, to say the least. The detective was haunted by strange dreams, dreams where she was falling, falling, falling again…off the Great Pyramid at Giza, the Petronas Towers, the Space Needle. Just as she was about to land splat on the concrete, the ground transformed into rolling ocean waves. And she found herself floating along, enjoying her voyage safely within confines of a small red boat.

The nightmares were understandable, probably PTSD-related. But what the young detective couldn’t explain was her sudden loss of interest in her once great passion, tracking the elusive Carmen Sandiego. She went along with her brother and tried to solve the thief’s clues as she always had. But when it came time to sprint after Carmen, Ivy’s body refused to give chase. Sometimes she even caught herself staring admiringly as Carmen made her getaway.

It had gotten so bad, that Carmen snuck up right beside her at the Uffizi gallery, Botticelli’s _Birth of Venus_ tucked under her arm, and Ivy didn’t so much as notice until the woman was three inches from her face. “What’s wrong with you, detective? Your heart doesn’t really seem to be in the game anymore,” Carmen observed with concern.

Ivy flinched and froze. A blush crept across her cheek and she hated herself for it. “It’s nothing.”

Something strange flashed across the thief’s shadowed face. “Or perhaps your heart is too much in the game.” she murmured darkly. “Either way, it’s no fun for me to play against a weakened opponent.”

“What do you plan to do about it then?” Ivy spat back with venom.

“I honestly haven’t decided yet,” the thief said. And Ivy would have been hard pressed to say whether Carmen sounded more intrigued or worried.

The shame of being caught out by Carmen Sandiego herself reignited the detective’s desire for pursuit. Ivy’s sneakers dogged Carmen’s red stiletto heels beneath Renaissance frescos in their usual _pas de deux_. For a moment everything was back to normal. Except it really wasn’t.

_Visions of her drawing near_

_Arise, abide and disappear_

_You try to slow it down_

_It doesn’t work_

After the encounter in Florence, Ivy (to her great relief) finally stopped dreaming about falling. Instead, she dreamed of chasing Carmen through a maze that never ended.  Every night she was running, running, running through a labyrinth, the corridors of every museum everywhere. Ivy could hear the thief’s laughter, the click of her heels against the tile floors, but she always remained just around the next corner, infuriatingly out of reach. When she had run into a dead end, bright green vines of kudzu sprouted from the walls, and lush ferns and tall trees sprang up from the floor tiles. Scarlett hibiscus larger than Ivy’s head hung from the vines. Some of the red flowers smelled deliciously sweet and Ivy longed to bury her face in their soft petals and taste their nectar with her tongue.  And some of the flowers looked like they might eat Ivy alive.  The young woman woke every morning drenched in her own sweat and frustration.

It was not her dawning awareness that she had feelings for another woman that bothered her, she told herself in her waking hours. Ivy had been born and raised in San Francisco- she had grown up with gay neighbors, teachers and family friends. No, the problem was the flamboyantly criminal _object_ of her desire.  When Ivy was a child, she had adored the brilliant Detective Sandiego from afar, an older girl who was noble, and intelligent and brave. When her hero decided to become a villain, Carmen’s treachery had chilled her to the bone. For years her feelings toward the thief had been frozen, a vast subterranean lake in her subconscious.  And now that something had finally broken the surface, the feelings that lay beneath were altogether too strange and unspeakable. And more powerful than she had ever imagined.

Ivy realized she had to talk to someone, but to whom?  Not her parents.  Not the Chief, who was sure to either suspend her or send her in for a psych evaluation.  If she told Zack, they’d probably both need psych evaluations. Armando was a terrible gossip and was sure to have the entire agency talking of her shame within forty-eight hours. Tatiana would tell Zack. She made a mental note to make some more friends.  Who didn’t have anything to do with ACME.

Her problem was solved when Jasmine, ACME’s top agent from Jamaica, came to headquarters for some extra language training. Ivy had always respected Jasmine and felt she could be trusted to keep a secret. Over a cup of coffee in a sidewalk café, Ivy dared to broach the subject. “Jasmine…chasing Carmen’s been a little weird lately.”

Jasmine let out a musical laugh. “Weirder than pirate ships being raised from the deep? Or travels in the future and the past?”

Ivy shook her head. “That kind of weird, I’m used to. It’s Carmen.  Has she ever…um…made a pass at you?”

Jasmine’s dark eyes went wide. “She’s taunted me and teased me many times. Once she even yelled at me. But _flirted_ with me? Ay, that would be the day.”

“But does she ever look at you like she knows something about you that you don’t?” Ivy pressed.

“Girl, she looks at everyone that way!”

“Oh.” For some reason, this made Ivy feel slightly disappointed. She shared with Jasmine the strange dreams she’d been having.

The Jamaican girl grinned slightly. “Well, the ocean…that’s about sex.”

“How is it sexy? It’s just an ocean!” Ivy protested. “And the flower ones?”

“Sex, too.”

“No way!”

“Info-scan Georgia O’Keeffe if you don’t believe me. Oh, girl, you got it bad,” Jasmine clucked.

Ivy’s face blushed twelve shades of pink. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t.” Jasmine fixed her with the look of a concerned older sister. “Carmen is one _irie_ lady, Ivy, but I don’t know if you should let her steal your heart.”

Just then, Ivy’s communicator beeped and the Chief’s disembodied head sprung out. “Orange alert, orange alert! VILE henchmen have been spotted in the vicinity of Savoy, France. All active agents report to HQ immediately.”

Orange alerts warned of VILE henchmen. Red was for Carmen herself. Ivy sighed. There was no color for developing an insane passion for your adversary.

_She comes so close_

_You feel her then_

_She tells you No and No again_

_Your lip is cut on the edge of her pleated skirt_

_Blue Alert_

Ivy strained against the shackles that bound her to the wall to no avail. The chains, unfortunately, were only made to look ancient. _Damn museum restoration_. They had tracked Carmen’s henchmen to the Château de Miolans.  Rather than waiting for backup as her brother had cautioned, Ivy decided to sneak into the fortress unguarded. And ended up being tackled to the ground by a squadron of faceless VILE thugs and locked in an 18 th century dungeon. Clearly, the latter was some henchman’s sick idea of joke. Or revenge.

The cell door creaked open and Ivy heard a velvety female chuckle. “My, my. And it’s not even my birthday. Did one of my men leave you here as a present for me?  I shall have to promote him,” Carmen spoke, entirely too amused for Ivy’s taste.

Ivy hung her head in shame. “He got lucky.”

“He got lucky because you were distracted. You seem to be distracted a lot lately, detective.” Carmen shook her head, “It won’t do.”

Ivy’s green eyes burned at Carmen. How dare she reprimand her for anything.

The thief tapped a black gloved finger against Ivy’s manacles. “You know, I am perhaps the second-most famous person ever to inhabit this dungeon.”

Her curiosity got the better of her. “Who was the first?”

Carmen smiled wickedly. “The Marquis de Sade.”

Ivy blanched and felt her mouth go dry. “This is twisted. Even for you.”

“My dear detective, the Marquis was incarcerated here as a _prisoner_ \- I admire him for the daring escape he made in 1772. Whatever were you thinking of?” the thief asked in her most elegant voice. Ivy turned her face away, pressed her lips so tightly together they bruised. Carmen sidled up beside her, maddeningly close, and spoke in her ear, “I can only imagine. Oh Ivy, didn’t anyone ever tell you that the only way to rid yourself of temptation is to yield to it?” Ivy swallowed. She could feel Carmen’s body pressed up against hers, was acutely aware of the swells of her breasts brushing against her back and an ungloved hand gently laid across her right hip. “We could yield to temptation right now, you and I, and no one would ever know.”

“No,” Ivy choked out, all the while feeling her body betray her.

“No? Are you sure?” Carmen’s voice was confident, her breath warm, against Ivy’s neck. So close and not close enough. “No one would blame you if you did. You’re just a poor, innocent girl who fell victim to the depraved Carmen Sandiego.”  The thief’s long clever fingers slid up the curve of her hips and stomach and reached out to grasp her breast.  A sharp fingernail grazed the tip of a traitorously erect nipple, causing Ivy to gasp out loud. “It’s what you want, isn’t it? For me to play the villain.” Carmen breathed, her own voice huskier than usual. Ivy’s every nerve ending was set like a coiled trap and still she had no answer. She couldn’t say no but didn’t know how to say yes.

Carmen drew her closer and held her firmly, just as she had done on that night in New York when it all began. “And we could do things that way,” her voice was iron in a velvet glove, “but, I’m really not interested.” And just like that, the thief drew her hand and body away, leaving a cold and empty vacuum in her wake.

Ivy was dumbstruck. “I don’t…but you _are_ a villain.”

Carmen turned to face her, eyes aching with a strange something, and said, “Who I am and what I need are not the same.” She stroked her cheek in an affectionate gesture and spoke firmly; “Own your desires.  Come to me under your own steam, Ivy, or not at all.” She produced an ACME communicator from one of her pockets and proceeded to fasten it around Ivy’s left wrist. The thief then tossed her a small silver key for the manacles.

“What are you doing?” Ivy asked, unlocking first one wrist, then the other.

“We’re on a tight schedule here, detective. You’re going back to ACME. _I_ , on the other hand, have a museum to break into,” she said grandly. Carmen briefly grasped Ivy’s wrist in her hand and pressed the buttons that opened the portal to the C-5 corridor. Before the blue lights could take Ivy home, the thief told her, eyes sparkling, “When you’re ready to play a different game, come and find me.”

_You know how nights like this begin_

_The kind of knot your heart gets in_

_Anywhere you turn is going to hurt_

The rest of Carmen’s caper turned out to be a complete farce on Ivy and Zack’s part. It had been years since Carmen had trounced them so soundly. It was embarrassing. And Ivy could barely look Zack in the eye. Because on some level, it was all her fault.

Unable to bear the disappointed and concerned looks of Zack and the Chief, Ivy hopped in her car and drove down to Santa Cruz. She hoped the ocean would clear her head. She thought long and hard about leaving ACME  or asking for a leave of absence. What was the point of doing the job she loved if she couldn’t do it properly? Maybe she should take some time off, go back to school or something.

The best part: she’d never see Carmen again.

The worst part: she’d never see Carmen again.

So Option #2- was to what? Yield to temptation as Carmen herself had suggested? Ivy shook her head. Yielding certainly hadn’t cured Carmen of her temptation to steal whatever wasn’t nailed down (and often things that _were_ nailed down) whenever the spirit moved her.

Her mind dismissed it as foolish and yet her body still burned with the touch of Carmen’s hands on her hips, her breath on her neck. She couldn’t deny anymore how much she wanted this. Carmen seemed to want it to, for her own unfathomable reasons. But even if she wanted to take Carmen up on her offer, Ivy hadn’t a clue how to get in touch with her. Wouldn’t be the first time she needed to find her and had no idea where she was.

“Excuse me, miss. You wouldn’t happen to have an extra quarter for the meter, would you?”  A kindly older gentleman asked her, interrupting her train of thought.

The man’s face was so sweet and gentle, she couldn’t say no. “Sure, hold on a sec.” Ivy turned out her pants pockets, which were empty. As a last resort she fished around her inside her jacket and drew out about fifty cents and a stick of gum. “Here you go,” she handed him the change.

 “Thank you kindly.” He bent down to pick up a piece of paper about the size and shape of a business card. “I think you dropped this,” his eyes twinkled.

Ivy was about to stuff the small card back in her pocket when the scarlet-edged border caught her eye. It was not something she recognized. On one side was the image of Queen of Hearts, like from a deck of playing cards.  On the reverse, printed in red ink, were the words

_For a Wilde Conversation-_

_Take the Northern or Bakerloo_

-C

There was only one “C” Ivy could think of who was fond of crimson and obscure clues. She supposed “a wilde conversation” was Carmen’s sophisticated way of saying “for a good time call.” Ivy blushed to think of how Carmen could have managed to tuck the card into her breast pocket without realizing it…but then again, she certainly had been distracted.

She sighed. Carmen would never do something so prosaic as to leave Ivy her telephone number. Of course it would be a clue. So many things about all of this felt frighteningly uncertain to Ivy, but cracking a clue of Carmen’s was definitely in her wheelhouse.

***

A little more than a day later, Ivy found herself walking down Adelaide Street near Trafalgar Square. After a bit of brain storming and some searching on the computer, Ivy had deduced that the first part of the clue referred to the playwright Oscar Wilde. Because she doubted the extra “e” in the phrase “wilde conversation” was a typo on Carmen’s part. And then she remembered that Carmen’s sexy words about temptation were a paraphrase of a famous quote attributed to the Irish playwright. The next part of the clue was a bit harder and she probably would have solved it faster had she been able to call upon Zack or the Chief for help, which really was not an option at all for this particular caper. Wilde had made his mark all over the British Isles, Paris and America and there were any number of places one could have had a conversation with him. But there was only one sculpture called “A Conversation with Oscar Wilde,” and it was in Trafalgar Square, which was serviced by the Northern and Bakerloo lines of the London Underground. So, Ivy told the Chief she was taking a few vacation days and boarded the next flight to London.

The redheaded detective approached the sculpture with apprehension, scanning the crowd for any hint of Carmen. She sank on to the memorial of green granite and bronze, shaped like a bench, so one really could have a conversation with Oscar. “I suppose desire’s not a crime, is it?” she mused to the bust. “Well…unless you’re _you_ , convicted of gross indecency. Or me…aiding and abetting a known fugitive.”

A sharply dressed young woman in a dove grey suit tapped Ivy on the shoulder. “Miss Ivy Kaplan of the ACME Detective Agency, I presume? Would you follow me, please. Ms. Sandiego has sent a car for you,” she spoke in a clipped Scottish brogue.

Ivy took one last glance at Wilde’s statue. She hoped her foray into temptation ended better than his did.

_There’s perfume burning in the air_

_Bits of beauty everywhere_

_Shrapnel flying_

_Soldier hit the dirt_

_Blue Alert_

One private jet ride and several time zones later, Ivy found herself alone in a spacious hotel suite on a jewel of an island nestled in a wine-dark sea. The room had a balcony overlooking the ocean, its French doors open to let a sea breeze drift through. Everything in the suite seemed designed to seduce the senses. The floors were marble, the sheets on the intimidatingly large bed snowy and silky. Champagne chilled in a dripping bucket of ice next to a silver plate of handmade chocolate truffles. Ivy popped one in her mouth and found it deliciously rich with just the slightest hint of spice; she had never had anything like it. Hanging over the bed like a trophy, Ivy recognized the stolen Venus on her half-shell. A small table held a vase full of roses, stargazer lilies and bright anemones, calling to mind her recurring dream of the red hibiscus and causing Ivy to blush with embarrassment. Did Carmen have an all-access pass to her subconscious? She really hoped not.

There was no sign of the lady in red anywhere except for a small note written upon in that same blood red ink; “Make yourself at home. –C”

Feeling travel-worn and in desperate need of something to quell the butterflies in her stomach, Ivy took a luxuriously hot shower. The steaming water eased the tension in her muscles while the soaps and shampoos, jasmine and vanilla, filled her nose with a sensual sweetness. Someone had left an oversized plush bathrobe out for her to wear…but the thought of facing Carmen in nothing but that made her nervous. It wasn’t anything special, but she put her usual jeans, t-shirt and jacket back on.

She re-entered the suite and Carmen was there, holding a glass of champagne in one hand and what looked like an oyster in the other. She was dressed in a scarlet kimono sashed at the waist… and nothing else, from what Ivy could tell. “Do you like oysters, Ivy? They are considered to be an aphrodisiac…but I am not really sure I require one this evening,” Carmen said, wicked mischief in her voice.

“I’m allergic to shellfish,” the girl replied lamely, not really knowing what else to say.

Carmen raised the oyster to her lips and tossed it down surprisingly gracefully. “Ah, very fresh,” she said with satisfaction. She gathered up two glasses of champagne and draped herself across one end of the room’s damask sofa. When Ivy just stood there, she patted the space beside her. Ivy followed and took the offered glass, sipping it cautiously. Carmen said nothing but looked at her with patient expectation. She really wasn’t going to make this any easier for her, was she? Finally, Ivy found the courage to speak, “I’m here. Like you asked. Under my own steam and all.”

“I see that.”

“Are you surprised?”

A wry smile tugged at the corner of Carmen’s ruby-red lips. “Honestly? A little.”

Ivy sat there, thumb and forefinger worrying the crystal stem of her champagne glass. Carmen looked at her like she was waiting for something, but Ivy wasn’t sure of how to proceed, couldn’t imagine making the first move. So she just kept talking; “I want you. I don’t really understand why. Maybe I have for awhile…maybe because it’s the only way I’ll actually ever be able to _have_ you…,” she said, choking back all kinds of longing and feeling.

Finally, Carmen took pity on her. “Shhh. Best not to overthink these things in my experience,” she said, leaning over, lips centimeters from her own. Ivy found her own lips reaching out of her own accord, kissing Carmen, melting against her. Carmen parted her lips, brushing her tongue temptingly against hers. The kiss was wilder and more decadent than anything she’d ever dreamed of. Each meeting of lips and tongue had her craving more and more and more. Ivy had never done heroin before, but she imagined it was a bit like kissing Carmen Sandiego; one hit and she was hooked.

If the thief’s kisses were like a drug, than not having them felt like detox. When Carmen gently pulled away, Ivy let out an audible moan of frustration. Carmen stood and playfully pulled the detective to her feet. The large bed with its snowy white sheets beckoned and the sight of it, strewn with dusky red petals, made Ivy hesitate. Actually the whole atmosphere of the room- from the mellow jazz tune playing softly on the hi-fi to the smell of Carmen’s perfume- made her hesitate. The setting was romance-novel perfect.   _Too_ perfect.

Carmen arched an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

Ivy struggled to find her words. When she did speak, her voice was thicker and heavier than she would have liked.  “You’ve done this before.”

Carmen favored her with one of her slyest smiles. “ _Querida_ , I am well past thirty. It would be more remarkable if I hadn’t done _this_ before.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She gestured to the immaculate suite, “You…this. It’s too practiced, too perfect.” Ivy turned her face away, and said with disgust. “I’m just another notch on your bed post, aren’t I? Another challenge. How many ACME agents have you seduced over the years, I wonder?” Carmen opened her mouth as if to answer but Ivy shook her head, “No, wait. I really don’t want to know.” She turned on her heel to leave. “This was a mistake. I should go.”

Carmen let her get halfway to the door before she said, “Ivy, wait. Please stay.”

Carmen Sandiego pleading; that was something you didn’t hear every day. Ivy sank back down on the sofa reluctantly, sure to put a cushion between her and the alluring woman next to her.

When Carmen looked at her, her expression was drained of its usual teasing amusement. Her eyes were those of a weary traveler, one who had logged countless numbers of miles, had seen the cities of the world in all their splendor, and who still had farther to go. “You’re not wrong, you know. Perhaps I am too good at this. But then again, I have to be.”

“I don’t understand.”

The thief smiled a touch sadly. “My life does not lend itself to…entanglements. I take my pleasure where I can find it.”

Ivy arched a ginger eyebrow. “That almost sounds like regret coming from you, Carmen.”

She shook her head. “It’s not, detective. But it is the cost of doing business.” The thief let out a long sigh. “Yes, I have done this before in rooms very much like this one. With women, with men…on both sides of the law. But with someone who knows me as well as you do? That’s a pleasure I’ve not had since I left ACME." The thief gave an elegant shrug but the longing in her voice was unmistakable. "Perhaps not ever." 

Carmen reached out a soft hand and traced her fingertips along the contours of Ivy’s face with infinite tenderness. “So, you see, Ivy, you are not just another anything.” Ivy leaned into the caress, held Carmen’s outstretched hand to her face. “Do you understand?” the thief asked quietly.

Ivy held Carmen’s blue gaze, deep as the ocean itself. “I do, I think.” She inched closer to rest her head on the older woman’s shoulder. “But…”

“But what?”

“I thought your game was more important to you than anything. If we do this…won’t it change?”

Carmen let out a laugh, a good one, deep and merry. “Oh, detective. Even the most delightful game will lose its edge if you always play by the same rules,” she said.

Ivy shook her head. “You’re impossible.”

“You would have me be otherwise?”

She felt her lips break out into a large grin, felt her heart swell to bursting inside her chest. “No. I wouldn’t change a thing.” Ivy locked lips with Carmen, propelled by her own momentum, and favored the thief with the most ravishing kiss she could manage. When the other woman closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh, it was like a long-awaited reward.

Ivy understood. Tonight she would be strong, so that Carmen could for once be vulnerable. Tonight she would reach for her as many times as she liked and the elusive woman would not pull away.  Tomorrow might dawn dark and mysterious, but tonight the game would be sharper and brighter and softer than it ever had been before.  

 

 


End file.
